Carry On My Wayward Son
by carryonmy-waywardson
Summary: Castiel is filled with souls - and something else. Set after the season 6 finale.


_Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done._  
><em> Lay your weary head to rest; don't you cry no more.<em>

_Once I rose above the noise and confusion,_  
><em>Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion.<em>  
><em>I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high.<em>  
><em>Though my eyes could see, I still was a blind man;<em>  
><em>Though my mind could think, I still was a mad man.<em>  
><em>I hear the voices when I'm dreaming, I can hear them say -<em>

Castiel could feel the sheer power of the souls within him; lighting his body from the inside out, and making him feel invincible and as though he were on top of the world. But, in the back of his mind, there was hysteria - a nagging voice that rose to great heights whenever the souls stirred within his vessel. The Angel tried to convince himself that it was just his imagination - if he _had_ one - but the more the voice spoke, the more he started to wonder: _was he going crazy_?

Had he taken on too much to bear? Was he slipping from good to evil, all because he was trying to save his race - and the world? Castiel could hear the voice inside, telling him what to do; telling him that he _needed_ to do wicked, awful things in order to satisfy the hunger, the _need_ for power and vengeance. The more the voice spoke - the more it's soft, sinful words seeped into his brain and into his soul - the more Castiel believed it, and the more he _wanted_ everything the Voice was offering.

Power; invincibility; everything he could possibly want, and_ so much_ more, if he'd only do simple things. But, these things were not simple by Castiel's standards, and he questioned why the Voice wanted him to do such things. The tasks were very specific, laid out in front of Castiel like a blueprint for a building.

One of these tasks was to kill the unholy; the self-righteous, and the cowardly. The men who preyed upon the human race with greed, lust, gluttony, and envy; those who found themselves in dark, smokey rooms, watching and waiting for their next kill.

Those men were murderers, rapists, and thieves and Castiel knew they needed to be punished, even before the Voice came. And it wasn't until the first voice was accompanied by a second, that the Angel gave in to their demands; gave into their sweet, tempting voices that struck him with a force greater than anything he'd ever experienced before.

And that's how Castiel found himself on Earth; in a dark alley, hidden in the shadows as he watched a man stalking a woman. The Angel could _hear_ the man's heavy breathing, and his muttering as the woman rushed toward the end of the alley, and he could feel his intentions. Knowing what the man was up to, Castiel stalked after him, seemingly faster than the man, and he grabbed him by the throat before he could round the corner and step into the light of the streetlamp.

As his hands wrapped around the man's throat, Castiel could hear - could _feel_- the Voices purr within him and his lips curled back into a snarl. The man stared at the Angel with fear burning in his eyes, and Castiel could feel that fear, and it fueled him; made him draw the blade and sink it deep into the predator's chest.

Blind with fury and vengeance, Castiel pulled the blade out and drove it back in, several times, until the man's screams died into soft, gurgling noises. Those noises soon faded into nothingness and Castiel could feel the flow of blood stop, before retrieving his knife and allowing the man's body to slump on the ground. Looking down at his work - at the work of _God_- the Angel smiled and wiped the blade on his trench coat, before turning and disappearing down the alley.

In the back of his mind, Castiel could hear the Voices praising him; telling him that he'd spend all eternity ruling Heaven, and that they were _proud_ of him. All the while, the Angel could feel the souls stir; could feel them inside, and he closed his eyes, touching the bloodstain on his coat, almost lovingly.

**_Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done._**  
><strong><em>Lay your weary head to rest; don't you cry no more.<em>**

"You'll be at peace when you're finished riding the world of the unholy," Voice number one spoke, with such tenderness, and Castiel beamed - both from the amount of souls he'd obtained, and from sheer happiness.

The Angel actually believed he was doing good, and he believed the Voices were real; that it was all for the 'Greater Good,' and that, at the end of it all, he would be rewarded with Paradise.

"Peace, Castiel," Voice number two whispered sweetly and Castiel could almost _feel_ its words wrapping around him, embracing him tightly. "A paradise much better than this; one designed for you, and _you only_."

"But there's one thing you must do for us," a third Voice spoke, and Castiel perked up when he heard it; not familiar with the One that was speaking to him. This Voice was rougher than the other two, and it sounded almost like his own, except it wasn't; it _couldn't_ be.

"I'll do anything," he offered to the Voices, eager to please them and have his own Paradise; his own peaceful sanctuary, where no one could bother him. "Anything, just name it," Castiel added, gripping the knife that he had slain dozens with - for the Voices, for his Masters.

"The Winchesters," all three Voices spoke in unison and Castiel understood immediately, and without question. He simply nodded, and the Voices retreated within themselves - within _Castiel_- and the Angel set off, walking through his Heaven, which had become dark and dreary; nothing like the bright Spring day it had once been.

Soon, he disappeared into thin air and when he opened his eyes, he was standing on the side of the road. Across from Castiel sat a motel, with it's bright, neon lights, and it's flickering VACANCY sign. They were in there; Castiel could feel it, and if _he _couldn't, he knew that the Voices could. They purred within him, and Castiel smirked wickedly; holding the blade in his hand and gripping the hilt tightly.

_Soon_, he thought to the Voices, and they cackled in response; slithering away and deep into the recesses of Castiel's mind.

**_Masquerading as a man with a reason;_**  
><strong><em>My charade is the even of the season.<em>**  
><strong><em>And if I claim to be a wise man,<em>**  
><strong><em>It surely means that I don't know.<em>**  
><strong><em>On a stormy sea of moving emotion,<em>**  
><strong><em>Tossed about, I'm like a ship on the ocean.<em>**  
><strong><em>I set a course for winds of fortune,<em>**  
><strong><em>But I hear the voices say -<em>**

If Castiel were the same Angel he'd been before, he wouldn't have been walking across the street, holding a blood-stained knife, and with the intent to kill the Winchesters; the two people - probably the _only_ two - that had been his friends, his family.

But he was no longer that Angel; he hadn't been since he cracked Purgatory open and absorbed all the souls. And a part of him wondered how long, before that, he'd been wicked; how long he'd harbored the feeling of revenge, of vengeance. Castiel didn't think of any of that as he crossed the road in the dark, cars and trucks passing through his vessel until he reached the motel parking lot.

Standing under the motel sign, Castiel watched the rooms quietly, his gaze suddenly becoming fixated on one in particular. He could feel Sam and Dean's spirits behind the door and he smirked, walking toward the room. Gravel crunched under his shoes and Castiel slipped the knife into his coat pocket, intending on gaining the brothers' trust, and then getting rid of them.

_Purge the world of the wicked, of the sinners and the self-righteous. Get rid of those who do harm to others, for their own gain, or the gain of the Devil. The Winchesters are the prime example of this, Castiel; purge the world of them, and you will receive Peace. Paradise awaits you, son._

The sound of the Voices filled Castiel's mind and he could feel the souls sputter within him; fluttering in his vessel, and that only made him walk faster. Within moments, he was standing in front of a maroon coloured door, and he lifted a hand; his knuckles brushing the sanded, smooth wood as he knocked.

It was a matter of seconds before Dean answered the door, and he stared at Castiel. The Angel could feel hatred - _wicked _- and anger - _sinner_- roll off the hunter and he tried to smile at him, but his lips curled into the same, familiar smirk he'd always worn.

"What are you doing here?" Dean's words were harsh and rough, and Castiel hadn't noticed that, while he spoke, Sam walked up behind him. _Sam's the most wicked of all; he's greedy, murderous, and he dances with the Devil. _Voice number one made itself present in Castiel's mind, and soon the smirk grew soft; turning into a smile.

"I wish to talk," Castiel answered, his eyes flicking between Sam and Dean -_sinners, wicked, wicked sinners; they need to be destroyed_- and he could feel the knife in his pocket; heavy and all demanding.

"No." The Winchesters said together and Dean shut the door in Castiel's face, which made the Voices growl. Shaking with anger, Castiel grabbed the handle of the knife and brought it out of his coat pocket, knocking on the door once more. This time, it took longer for one of them to answer - _the boy with the demon blood _- and Castiel pushed himself into the room.

_Destroy them_, the voices chanted over and over, and Castiel smirked, his vision going black as he wielded the knife. _DESTROY THEM!_The Voices were louder this time, and Castiel nodded, his entire body burning hot as he lunged toward Sam, the wicked one.

Something came in contact with his stomach, and Castiel howled in pain; hurling himself toward the back wall. As he slumped to the ground, Castiel's vision became clear and he could hear the Voices whisper..

_Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done._  
><em> Lay your weary head to rest; don't you cry no more.<em>

Castiel scrambled to his feet and, with the snap of his fingers, disappeared completely; sending himself back Home, back to his stormy Heaven. In the back of his mind, the Voices were screaming at him, at each other, and for no reason in particular. "SHUT UP!" The Angel yelled at the top of his lungs, and the Voices died away, fading into the background and allowing Castiel to breathe.

He'd messed up and let the Voices down, and Castiel couldn't feel them after he yelled. He couldn't feel the souls, and he could barely feel the knife in his hand, or the ground beneath his feet. Castiel's entire world was crashing down on him, along with his plan to rid the world of the Winchesters.

"No." The word was spoken to no one, and Castiel snapped his fingers again; transporting himself to the motel. This time, he was standing under a light on the side of the building, waiting for one of the hunters to come out. If they didn't emerge from their room, Castiel would pop in when they least excepted it, and kill them on the spot.

The thought of killing the Winchesters put a smile on his face.

The thought of having absolute Paradise made the souls within his vessel flutter harder, and _that_ made the smile grow.

**_(Carry on)_**  
><strong><em>You will always remember,<em>**  
><strong><em>(Carry on)<em>**  
><strong><em>That nothing equals the splendor.<em>**

The sound of gravel crunching grew louder with every second and Castiel's vessel was buzzing; his hands were trembling in excitement, and he struggled to get a firm grip on the knife. When the footsteps stopped, Castiel peeked around the corner of the building, and saw Dean standing next to the Impala, his back toward the Angel.

_Do it now; destroy Dean Winchester._The Voices spoke as one, and soon that melted into one singular voice; one that was a combination of all of them, and that sounded more like Castiel than anything. Nodding, the Angel stood out; he could feel the chilly breeze caressing his skin and he shivered, stepping closer to Dean.

Wrapping an arm around Dean's throat, Castiel was about to put the tip of the knife against the hunter's back, when he felt the cold muzzle of a gun pressing against the nape of his neck. Castiel didn't need to turn and look at the person behind him to know that it was Sam, and he held Dean tighter, cutting off circulation.

"I wouldn't do that," Sam's voice was flat and unamused, but Castiel chuckled anyway, his body shaking with laughter. The knife was inches away from Dean's spine, and, at any moment, Castiel could plunge the blade in and kill him easily. "Drop the knife and back away from Dean." The hunter was demanding and Castiel rolled his head to the side, and turned it so he could look over his shoulder.

"Or what? You gonna shoot me and add another body onto your murder tally?" The voice that came from Castiel's mouth was not his own, but a mixture of the ones in his head. It was the voice he'd been hearing all along, but mixed together and amplified. "Murdering doesn't bother you, does it?" Castiel chuckled and turned his head back toward Dean, pulling his arm up and aiming the knife at the side of Dean's neck.

Before he could bring it down, Castiel heard a bang beside his ear, and he felt something hot and solid enter his skull. The shot didn't kill him, but it was enough to make him fall to the ground; the knife in his hand skittering along the gravel, landing at Sam's feet.

_Castiel…  
><em>

_Destroy…_

Winchesters..

_Cas…tiel.._

The Voice died away and everything faded to black.

**_Now your life's no longer empty;_**  
><strong><em>Surely Heaven waits for you.<em>**

There was pain in his body, from his head to his toes, and Castiel felt as though he were on fire. He tried to move, but his arms and legs were tied to something hard and cold. Turning his head, Castiel couldn't see anything; the room was dark, cold, and there was smoke rising from somewhere close.

He wanted to scream out; scream for the Voice to help him, but when he did, nothing happened. Silence crept all around him and his body shook violently on the table as fire moved across his legs.

The first touch of flames sent Castiel screaming and he arched off of the table, pulling against the rope that held him down. Then he smelled it; the stench of burning Holy Oil, and he understood what was happening.

He was dying. Dying at the hands of the Winchesters, and there was nothing he could do. Pleading for his life was out of the question, and, with the Voice being gone, he was all alone; left to die, and to burn away to nothing.

Closing his eyes, Castiel thought of Paradise and what it would be like; thought about the peace and quiet he'd have. The fantasies kept him from thinking about the fire that engulfed him, and the flames that lapped at his bare skin.

Paradise, to Castiel, was being with his family; with Lucifer, Gabriel, Uriel, and even Anna. Paradise was complete and utter happiness with the people he'd once loved, and even _still_ loved to this day. No more pain, or murder, or hate; nothing but love and family, which is all Castiel ever really wanted.

As the fire reached his upper body, Castiel was already gone; his eyes had fluttered half-open, and his head turned to the side. His hands and fingers had gone limp, and they lay against the table motionless as the flames engulfed them, and soon turned them to char.

And as Castiel slipped away, he could hear the Voice whisper to him, and it said..

**_Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done._**  
><strong><em> Lay your weary head to rest; don't you cry no more.<em>**

And peace was exactly what Castiel had found.

He was in Paradise, and it was his _own_; Lucifer and Gabriel and Uriel and Anna were there, along with every other fallen Angel he'd ever known. No one was hurt, or in pain, and there were no Voices to tell him to purge the wicked.

Castiel was finally at peace with his life, and Paradise was everything he could have imagined it to be.


End file.
